Cradling her mug, Jean said, “You'd think we would have heard by now. We should have heard something.”
Ray rested a hand on her shoulder. “We'll hear. Soon.” He massaged her shoulder with his big hand. “Try not to worry.”
Jean turned red-rimmed eyes on her husband. “You don't know how it feels. He's not your son.”
Her words felt like a slap, but knowing her retort came from anguish, Ray said gently, “I know.” Setting his cup on an end table, he steered her toward a comfortable chair. “Sit.” He gently pushed her onto the cushions and slid an ottoman under her feet. Resting his hands on the arms of the chair, he leaned over and planted a kiss on her forehead. “He's not my son. But I care about him. And even more than that I care about you. I…” He could feel his emotions rise but suppressed them. “I hate to see you like this. Have faith. God hasn't forgotten you or your son.”
“I do have faith. But I also know that God doesn't always give us what we want.” Her eyes teared. “I've lived through the death of a son and my husband. I know God has his plans...that's what frightens me.” Taking a handkerchief out of her pocket, she blew her nose and dabbed at tears. “I pray for God's mercy. I don't think I can bear any more…” She couldn't finish and yielded to weeping.
“There's a lot in life we can't explain and maybe won't ever understand—my wife and son's death, Will's dying and Justin...I don't know what God's plans are. But we can trust him.
“The Bible says the Lord is the same yesterday, today, and forever. He doesn't change. He is trustworthy and merciful. There's a big picture out there that you and I can't see. We just have to believe God's in control.” He smoothed Jean's hair. “He wants us to see beyond our fears and to rest in him.”
Jean captured Ray's hand and pressed it to her cheek. She took a deep breath. “I've always been able to grab hold of him, but this time...I don't know—it's just harder.”
“I love you. I hate to see you like this. You haven't slept in three nights.”
“I'm sorry. I guess my faith is weak.”
“Don't apologize. You have more faith than anyone I know.”
“I wish that were true.” Jean managed a small smile and patted the front of Ray's wool shirt. “I don't mean to worry you.” Gazing into his compassionate eyes, she added, “And I'm sorry about the comment about Luke. I know you care and that you understand suffering all too well. I'm just scared. The thought of Luke never coming home …”
Ray pulled her into his arms and held her tight. “I'm sure there's a reason we haven't heard. It must be a real mess over there in Hawaii. Everyone must be trying to get messages home. It's probably chaos. I'll bet Luke's worried about you. He knows you're waiting to hear from him, and I'm sure he's doing everything he can to get word to you.” He kissed the top of her head and straightened.
“I hope you're right.”
Silence fell over the room. A clock hanging on the wall ticked...ticked...ticked.
Finally Ray said, “I'm glad the kids went out to play. Good for them to get some fresh air.”
“It's awfully cold, don't you think?”
“It's not so bad. And they're bundled up good. You know Laurel. Soon as they get to her place she'll get some hot cocoa into them. Plus, she'll probably have them bake up a batch of cookies. Maybe they'll bring some home. I wouldn't mind.”
“I ought to be doing some baking myself,” Jean said, pushing out of her chair. “We're nearly out of bread.”
“I'll give you a hand.”
“Well, thank you, sir,” Jean said, taking a stab at cheeriness. She glanced down at her bathrobe and seemed surprised to find herself still in night garb. “Oh dear. It's nearly eleven o'clock and I'm still not dressed.” She headed for the stairs but stopped when she heard the sound of a vehicle in the driveway. Glancing out the window, she paled and clutched the neckline of her gown. “It's a telegram messenger,” she whispered.
“With good news, I'm sure,” Ray said boldly.
Jean started for the back door.
Ray followed, keeping a hand on her back.
Jean pulled open the door and rushed to the porch. She stood stiffly, waiting for a young man who methodically put the car in gear and turned off the engine, then too slowly climbed from the vehicle and walked toward her.
“Morning,” he said, then dug into his pack and retrieved a message. “Telegram, ma'am.” He held out an envelope.
Her hand shaking, Jean took it.
With a nod, he said, “Good day,” then turned and headed back to his car.
Staring at the envelope, Jean returned to the kitchen. She stood in the middle of the room, turning the telegram over and over in her shaking hands. Finally she held it out to Ray. “I...I can't.”
Ray took the envelope and ripped it open. He quickly scanned the page, then eyes shimmering, he looked at Jean.
“Oh no! Please, no!”
Ray grabbed her by the shoulders. “Jean! It's good news! He's all right!” He laughed and pulled her into his arms. “He's all right.”
His leg stiff and aching from the shrapnel he'd taken, Luke limped down Kekili's street. He hadn't heard from her and wondered if she'd made it through the bombing all right. Aside from an occasional toppled palm tree, a few cracked windows, and holes chewed in the street from Japanese bullets, the neighborhood looked untouched.
She was probably on her way to church when they hit, he thought. Looking down the street, then allowing his eyes to roam over an open field, he imagined civilians being gunned down. Please, not her.
He stopped in front of Kekili's house. It seemed intact. The front walk was clear. Greenery hugged the front porch. He walked to the door and knocked. No one answered. He tried turning the knob, but it was locked. Please be here, he thought and moved around to the side of the house. He peered through a cracked window, but it was dark inside, and he couldn't see anything but his own reflection. He walked around to the back of the house and tried the door. It was unlocked. He stepped inside.
“Hello,” he called. No answer. “Hello.”
Closing the door, he stepped into the kitchen. It was tidy with yellow checked curtains at the window and a matching tablecloth neatly draped over a small table. Bowls with crusted milk, along with spoons, sat in the sink. Beside them were two partially filled coffee cups. Luke's apprehension grew. “Kekili,” he called. Where was she? And where were her sister and the children?
